I wasn’t vocal about my refusal, just non-committal, secure in the knowledge that my father would never force me to do something to which I was completely averse. Knowing when it came to it he might be disappointed, though would accept with good grace that I wanted some say in who would become my life partner.
Then, at Nijad’s wedding I’d met Aiza, had seen she was no longer a young girl, instead a fully-grown woman. I’d been struck by her ethereal beauty, the depth in her eyes, and the overall air of mystery and promise on her face. Immediately attracted to her, I asked her to dance. She fitted into my arms as if she was made to be there. It had been hard to hide the evidence of my arousal from her, but I tried to treat her with all the respect with which a virgin princess should be awarded. I could listen to her musical voice for hours, and her magical laugh which sent tingles down my spine. I wondered if Allah had a role in pre-ordaining our coupling, wanting to return to Alair and ask my father to put marriage plans in place immediately, knowing I’d never find another woman her equal.
Even as that thought flitted through my head, I knew capturing someone like her wouldn’t be easy. She’d need to be encouraged, wooed. And won. Even a prince like me didn’t deserve her. I’d left the wedding with ideas in my head of how to get close to her. Thrawted as she’d disappeared back to Switzerland, and I didn’t see her again. Or not until I was indulging myself visiting a BDSM club in Paris. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw her in action, demonstrating how perfect she was for me. Not wanting to embarrass her, I’d slipped away before she could see me.
I’d first fallen in love with her, and now I was in lust with her. Watching from a distance, knowing that like me she wouldn’t want the secret of her proclivities to be known. The fact I wouldn’t be gaining a virgin bride in fact filled me with excitement. An experienced woman with the confidence to know what she wants, far more my ideal. She deserves that pedestal on which I placed her. No woman could be more perfect for me.
Today I’ll see her again, and this time I won’t wait any longer. I’ll press my suit. When I lay on my charm there’ll be no escape for her. Lowering my hand, smiling ruefully, I readjust myself in my trousers, wondering why I’d worn a suit today instead of my robes, which would have hidden my reaction to her. I’d dressed in western clothes with a purpose, wanting to emphasise my cosmopolitan leanings rather than coming over as an Arab, wedded to my land. My ploys carefully put in place to start getting her attention from the moment I greet her. The time for delay is over. She will be mine. And soon.
My suite of rooms overlooks the main palace driveway. I watched Kadar leave some time ago, presumably to collect his sister from the airport. Like a schoolboy, I find it impossible to keep my mind focused on the report I’m supposed to be absorbing, and return time and time again to the window, hoping the emir will soon be back, bringing Aiza with him. When he does, I’ll find an excuse to intrude on their family time and be with her. It won’t be difficult. Unless their wives are around, neither Nijad, Jasim, nor Kadar know how to speak to her. But I do.
Ah. It’s Kadar. He’s back. Surely it’s too fast? I frown, expecting the formalities at the airport to have taken longer. As I watch, it’s only Kadar who exits the limousine, gesticulating and shouting, surrounded by guards who rush him into the palace. A brief smile crosses my face. Has Aiza upset him already? That didn’t take long. Then my mouth turns down, and I’m hit with a premonition. Something’s wrong.
Quickly I put down the drink I’ve been holding, and as fast as I can make my way to the ground floor of the palace, hoping I can inveigle myself into any discussion that’s going on. As I walk through the impressive and extensive hallways I don’t have to think where I’m going, I’m just following the voices, several men, all shouting at once.
“Where the fuck is she, Kadar?”
“Kadar. Have you heard anything?”
“Ni, shut it. Let me think.”
Then I hear Kadar talking in rapid Arabic, and as he’s not being answered, I take a guess that he’s on the phone.
The sinking feeling inside me grows as I grasp that the she they’re discussing can only be Aiza. Hoping to Allah it’s only that she’s done something stupid and missed the plane, and it’s nothing more than her normal shenanigans, I quicken my steps until I enter the atrium where guards and the Kassis brothers are congregating.
Jasim’s the nearest. “What’s happened?” I grab his attention. “Where’s Aiza?”
He looks at me with no recognition, so lost in his thoughts, then shakes his head as he comes back to himself. “Aiza’s been kidnapped. We don’t know anything more at present.”
Kidnapped? My heart skips a beat as I look around in horror. Kadar’s not the only one on his phone, Nijad is too. As well as one of the uniformed guards whose uniform and medals show he’s a senior officer.
I hear snippets of conversations. Conference room. All lines diverted there. Surveillance tapes. Air traffic control. Radar. Grade A… I surmise everything’s being done to try and trace where she’s gone.
Aiza’s missing. My head reels with the information. Someone’s abducted her. When she was coming to Amahad to be safe. Was the plane hijacked? What the fuck has happened? My heart almost stops beating in the concern for the woman I’ve loved from afar.
When Kadar uses his loud voice to instruct everyone to convene in the conference room, I follow them in, taking a seat around the table. Well, she’s my future wife. It’s my place to be here. If I hadn’t dallied so long we could be married by now, and she’d have been safe in Alair. Safe, at home, and looking after my babies. My head sinks into my hands as it dawns on me there’s a chance we might not get her back. I’ve heard Kadar’s strict views on paying a ransom.
Suddenly two men burst into the room, one holding a hand to a bleeding arm, blood dripping from his sleeve. It’s a man from Grade A Security who I recognise, having come across him when discussing how to protect the pipeline. His name’s Hunter. His companion is Sheikh Rais.
Another man’s hot on their heels. This one carries a bag looking suspiciously like one a doctor would use. As he makes a beeline for the man covered in blood I gather my summation was on target. Hunter and the doctor are shown to seats at the side of the table.
Stripping off his shirt, uncaring he’s barechested and surrounded by sheikhs, high-ranking military men, and hangers-on like me, Hunter simply holds out his injured arm for the doctor to examine while crashing his other fist down on the table.
“It was a complete set up.”
Kadar nods once. “The bomb that turned me and my entourage around. Then the incendiary devices that were set around the terminal. More to cause smoke, panic and disruption rather than serious damage. It did the trick.”
One of the military men raises his hand. “I’m sorry, Your Excellency. The captain in charge of the guard diverted half of his men to go help evacuate the terminal.”
“A decision any of us would have made, General Zaram.” Nijad waves off his apology on his brother’s behalf. “No one knew lives of civilians weren’t going to be lost at that point.”
Zaram lifts his chin, still looking upset. “With only half the guard remaining they were overpowered, put inside the hanger and tied up.”
“Injuries?” Kadar snaps.
“They put up a good fight. Two dead. Two in a critical condition. Eight walking wounded. As far as the terminal is concerned, all members of the public were evacuated safely.”
“And the fake guard that greeted you?” Kadar snaps the question.
“Any left behind were all killed, so we couldn’t question them,” Zaram confirms. “We have no idea who they were. Any alive got away in a second helicopter before we could free our men.
The room goes quiet as each of us wonder who we’re up against, and in the brief silence a low voice can be heard. “You’ve got severe bruising over your ribs. I’d like to do an x-ray. And if you’ll just lean forwards… Ah, yes. That’s a nasty one over your kidneys
. I think you should go to hospital.”
“Just patch me up, Doc. I’m not going anywhere until I know Aiza’s safe.”
“Was the princess hurt?” I can’t keep quiet any longer, and feel at least some relief when Hunter shakes his head.
“No. But they were rough with her when they dragged her to the limousine.” He pauses and frowns. “I could see that she put up a struggle, though it was in vain. They overpowered her easily. Kadar,” his eyes implore the emir to believe him, “I tried to get to her…”
“Damn it.” Both Kadar’s fists come down hard on the table, then he stands and proceeds to pace around the room, coming up against a technician who’s hurriedly placing wires and plugging them in under the table. They dodge around each other, then Kadar starts pacing again. He swings around. “Rais?”
“Can’t tell you much more than Hunter has said. Helicopters flew off, keeping under the radar. We only know the rough direction they were flying in. All airports have been warned to look out for them.”
“What models?”
“I saw her dragged into a common enough R44,” Hunter cuts in. “Four-hundred-mile range, however we’ve no idea where it came from.”
“Identification?”
“No, Kadar.” Hunter looks as distraught as I feel. So he should. He was responsible for the princess. I hope his arm’s hurting.
“Fuck.”
No one speaks, all thinking of something practical to suggest. The fact of it is, Aiza’s even now being taken away by fuck knows who, and fuck knows where. Or why.
Kadar plants his fist on the wall, and I can see the tension in his body. He breathes in audibly, then lets the breath out on a sigh. I watch as his shoulders draw back, and then he comes back to the table, pulls in the chair he’d kicked away, and sits down. With elbows on the table he puts his head down into his hands.
Then he looks up. “I thought she’d be safe in Amahad,” he notes sadly. “That’s why I called her back.”
“We all did, Brother,” Jasim offers supportively.
“It was a snub. A thumbed nose in your direction, Kadar. And who would want to do that?” Rais’s eyes are half hooded.
“Amir al-Fahri,” Kadar says without pause. “There is no one else. No one else with this amount of organisation.” He turns to Zaram. “Did your men notice anything about the men who overpowered them?”
Zaram frowns. “They were Arab, well organised. Well trained. Don’t forget they had two helicopters to call on.”
“To confuse us.” Rais nods. “Anything to identify the dead?”
“We’re working on it,” Zaram replies. “We’ll see if we can get any identification, though I’m sorry to say I doubt we’ll find anything.” He breaks off to speak directly to Kadar. “For my part, I agree with you. The only person who has the manpower to set up something like this is Amir al-Fahri.”
“We’ve no fucking idea where he or his base is. We’ve been searching for him long enough.” Nijad’s face has darkened in anger.
“Ni, the whole fucking world wants to know where he is. He was behind that terrorist attack in London the other week. Or at least took credit for it.” Watching him, I realise I’ve never seen the emir of Amahad looking at such a loss.
“The helicopter hasn’t got a long range,” Rais offers. “I’ll get the desert tribes looking out for anything suspicious.”
“I’ll get the drones sent up. We can cover a lot of the southernmost desert.” Nijad’s brow is creased. “I’ll make contact with Qudamah, enlist his help to look for her in Ezirad.”
“All my men will be searching. I’ll send choppers and planes up to look for any unusual activity,” General Zaram announces.
“I’ll contact my father. We’ll do everything we can in Alair,” I offer.
Kadar looks grateful, “Thank you, Prince Rami.”
Hunter clears his throat. “I’ll talk to Ben, and we’ll get all ears to the ground seeing if we can pick up any rumours.”
“I’ll speak to Cara. See if she can pick up anything on the dark web.”
“Good thinking, Nijad.” Kadar nods at his brother, then scratches his beard and shakes his head. “That seems about all we can do until we get more information.”
“What if we’re wrong? We could spend all our time looking for the elusive al-Farhi, and someone else may have taken her?” Jasim’s looking concerned. “They didn’t kill her, they took her. They must have had a reason.”
Nijad glances at his brother. “If it’s a kidnap for ransom they’ll make contact soon enough asking for money. What other motive could anyone have for taking her?”
“I’m happy to work on the assumption it’s al-Farhi.” Hunter’s softly drumming his fingers on the table. “If it is, I think we’ll know soon enough. He does like to boast.”
The man from Grade A is right. He does. I frown. “Are you going public with this, Kadar?”
“You don’t have to make that decision, Emir.” Rais is glaring at his phone, the very modern device looking incongruous in the large hands of the fierce-looking desert sheikh. “Someone must have put two and two together at the airport and has already run to the press.”
As one, we all get out our phones and see the headline alert. Desert Princess Kidnapped.
Kadar swears loudly. “Jasim, get a press conference set up. We don’t have a choice, and more people on the lookout for any unusual activity can’t hurt.”
“I’m happy dealing with the press,” Jasim agrees. “I’ll set something up and you can direct any enquiries to me. Rather everyone got the same story than went off half-cocked and make something up. I agree, the more people looking for her, the better. Whoever’s got her will have to take more care hiding her. He might get careless and make a mistake.”
I watch Kadar’s hands as they open and shut, understanding his frustration. We can look all we like, pretend we’re taking action. At the end of the day the ball is in the kidnapper’s court. It’s unlikely we’ll find her unless we have one hell of a lot of luck.
“Whatever you can do, just go and do it,” Kadar declares. “Sitting here isn’t doing anything to help. We’ll reconvene once someone’s made any progress or there’s been contact.”
As the men around me stand I pause for a moment, worried sick about the woman I’ve decided I want in my life, mentally sending a promise. Hang on, Aiza. I’m coming for you.
Chapter 9
Aiza
The man sitting by my side smells rank. Unfortunately there’s no way to escape getting a whiff of his body odour with every breath I take. I’m thankful it’s not too long before the sound of the rotors changes as we begin a descent. My relief soon turns into consternation. We’ve not arrived at an airport, or any type of civilisation, but the middle of the desert instead. As the handcuffs are undone and I’m pulled out of the helicopter, I rub my sore wrist to get the blood flowing again and look around, seeing nothing other than sand dunes in every direction.
There might not be anything to see, but there is something to hear—a sound which gets gradually louder, a rhythmic thump thump noise announcing another chopper is approaching. As it comes into view I see it’s much larger than the small four-seater that brought me here.
“Almarhalat alttaliat min rihlatik,” the unpleasant smelling man tells me uselessly. I’d already figured out that my journey hadn’t yet ended.
I don’t bother questioning him more or asking where they’ll be taking me, as I quickly learned he wouldn’t tell me, and I’ve too much pride to beg for information. I don’t even bother to run or try to escape. I’m not crazy. Unequipped for survival, I wouldn’t last long in the desert even if I could evade capture. As the only rational reason for my kidnap is presumably to hold me for ransom, I’ll take my chances and do what these men want me to. That way I’ve a chance of staying alive rather than face certain death.
Shielding my eyes, I look away as the landing helicopter whisks up sand, only glancing back when the rotors stop turning. When
I see two robed men descend and come over towards me, I wish I’d worn the traditional tunic and trousers today, feeling far too exposed in my tight capris and small tee when their eyes roam over me, pausing far too long on my breasts and ass.
The tall man in the lead wears a smirk. “Princess,” he starts sneeringly. “Your carriage awaits.”
Noting he’s spoken to me in perfect English, I raise my head haughtily, wondering whether these men will be more forthcoming. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”
“All in good time. Now, please.” He bends a little and sweeps his hand in the direction of the new transport, the smirk remaining on his face. He might be exhibiting the right behaviours, but I can tell it’s all pretence.
I hesitate, eyeing the men who brought me here, while suspecting there’s little I can do to persuade them to take me back again. They’re hired thugs, bribery probably wouldn’t work. At least the newcomer looks and smells clean. Keeping my shoulders and back straight, I walk towards the helicopter, accepting the hand of the man who helps me inside. This craft’s far more luxurious than the previous ride, and there are three other men waiting inside, including the pilot. That makes five in total, far too many for me to take on even if I did know the first thing about self-defence. A big gap in my education. One I’ll rectify if I get out of this alive.
I’m politely directed to a soft leather seat as if I was an honoured guest rather than a kidnap victim. Rejecting the offer of help, I do up my own harness. There’ll be a time for protest and struggling, and this isn’t it. Best to save my energy for when I need it. Looking out of the window, I see what looks like money exchanging hands. As I watch I run through in my mind the advice I had been given about what to do if I was ever kidnapped. The first, of course, was to avoid being taken in the first place, and that one I’ve already failed.
Keep calm and be co-operative. While that goes against the grain, complaining won’t get me very far. Retaining a semblance of composure isn’t easy, my heart’s been pounding since the airport, and useless adrenaline is pumping through my veins telling me to run, to fight, to scream. I force myself to slow my breathing. Think, Aiza.
Hard Choices (Blood Brothers #6) Page 8
